


Halloween Discord

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Catch Me When I Fall [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Castiel Whump, Cowboy Dean, Gen, Halloween, Humor, Season/Series 05, Spells & Enchantments, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6134281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Halloween curse turns people into their costumes, including an unsuspecting Dean. Now Sam and Cas have to find a way to break the spell before the ensuing chaos brings an untimely end to Team Free Will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halloween Discord

**Author's Note:**

> *Originally posted Oct. 2014 on ff.net.  
> Just a short Halloween adventure for Team Free Will, set in Season 5. The premise is not original; I stole it from another paranormal show because I thought it’d be fun to see how the boys handled it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Also, I’ll be making allusions to other shows, which I won’t name so readers can enjoy figuring them out. But needless to say, I don’t own them either.

“That is not a demon’s true face.”

Dean flapped his hand for Cas to keep his voice down, glancing around to make sure no one else in the boutique costume shop had heard. He couldn’t believe this was where he found himself on Halloween—and if anyone asked in the future, he’d deny ever stepping foot in the place. But at three in the afternoon when school got out, kids had started filling the streets of the small town the Winchesters were passing through, and Cas wanted to know why they were all dressed funny.

Which was how Dean found himself standing inside a costume store, holding up a rubber mask and trying to explain the concept of trick-or-treating to the angel.

“It’s not supposed to be accurate,” he said in a low voice. “It’s just what people imagine demons look like.”

Cas cocked his head, brow pinching in serious thought. “Why would a child wish to don such a visage?”

“Because it’s scary.” Dean glanced at the red-painted face with pointed nose and ears, and elongated chin. Wide, grinning black lips framed fangs, and two curling horns protruded from the top. Okay, it looked pretty ridiculous compared to the real monsters he had encountered.

Cas still looked utterly confused. “And in dressing this way, a child hopes to scare people into giving him candy? Isn’t he more likely to be beaten with a purse?”

Dean groaned and rubbed his face, then arched a brow. “Wait, what? Where did you see someone get beaten with a purse?”

The angel shifted his shoulders and looked away to stare intently at a plastic pirate’s sword.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Seriously? What’d you do?”

Cas huffed. “I had just flown back to this continent from Athens and needed to stop for a rest. Apparently I startled an elderly woman in Central Park. She expressed her displeasure by hitting me with her handbag repeatedly.”

Dean shook his head, chest quivering with suppressed laughter. Man, he wished he could have seen that.

Cas drew his shoulders back stiffly. “So I do not see how children running up to people’s doors and scaring them is supposed to elicit a favorable response.”

Dean sighed and set the demon mask back on the shelf. “Sam, help me out here.”

His brother looked up from a display of rubber guts, lips twitching in amusement. “Not all costumes are scary, Cas. Some are based on movie characters, like this one.” He reached into a clothes rack and pulled out an all black get-up with a thin cloth strip bearing two wide slits for eyes pinned to the lapel.

“So, it’s customary to dress as a villain?”

“What? No, Zorro isn’t…” Sam trailed off, shaking his head.

Dean rolled his eyes. If it weren’t for the Apocalypse, he’d sit Cas down in front of the television and educate him on the past two decades of popular movies. Though, with the angel’s infuriating sense of logic and literalism, Cas would probably still be confused. And Dean would have a headache.

“Okay, here,” Sam continued. “Another classic Halloween costume.” He put “Zorro” back on the rack and pulled out a burgundy velvet gown with gold stitching around the bodice and poofy shoulders that made the sleeves look like mutton legs. “Fairytale princess, not evil.”

Dean snickered. “Nice, Samantha. Why don’t you try it on?”

Sam shot him a dirty look and shoved the voluptuous dress back between the other costumes. He swatted at a bit of thin pillow stuffing dangling from the low ceiling into his face. Huge fuzzy spiders perched above their heads, interspersed with strings of jack-o’-lantern lights.

Dean just chuckled to himself, only to stop when he spotted a sheet of pure white poking out between a pirate’s garb and a Union soldier’s uniform. He broke out into a wider grin. “Hey, look Cas, it’s you.” He pulled the white robe out, complete with a silver tinsel halo draped across the hanger’s neck.

Castiel stared at it dubiously. “That bears no resemblance to me.”

“But it’s an angel!”

The look that crossed Cas’s face reminded Dean of the second time he’d encountered the angel after being raised from Hell, when Castiel had demanded with indignant ire that Dean show him some respect. He’d secretly been terrified then, not knowing Cas from any other intolerant soldier-of-God, but now that Cas was like a naive younger brother—not to mention Cas could no longer smite him—Dean couldn’t hold back his snigger.

“Angels do not wear collars,” Cas deadpanned.

“Uh,” Sam interjected. “It’s a halo.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed further. “Angels do not wear halos.”

“Really? Too bad.” Dean angled his gaze at the shiny tinsel, mildly disappointed. It probably would have been a great source to tease Cas about if angels did. But then, he hadn’t really expected that part to be accurate; most angels were dicks, not the cutesy, gentle shepherds modern day motifs made them out to be.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, Cas, you get the idea?”

Castiel swept his gaze over the various clothes racks and store shelves containing accessories, mouth pursed in a thoughtful mien. “I still don’t understand. When you and Dean want sweets, you go to the store. You don’t dress up for it.”

“Kids dress up to get candy,” Sam clarified. “For _fun_.”

“But these are adult sizes.”

“Well, yeah. Adults dress up too, just not for candy.”

“Then why?”

Dean threw his hands up and pivoted to stalk down the next aisle over. Bringing Cas in here had been a bad idea. Dean didn’t even care much for Halloween to begin with, probably because he and Sam had never done the typical get dressed up and go hunting for candy thing. Nope, Dean had spent plenty of Halloween nights hunting _other_ things with his dad. And knowing what real life horrors were out there, he thought people’s recreational fascination with monsters, death, and scaring each other was downright stupid. But then, that was more or less what he and Sam had devoted their lives to: hunting evil so that others could lead innocently ignorant lives.

He eyed a shelf lined with accessories, pausing to admire an old-fashioned pistol and Texas Ranger bronze star. He shook his head at the fleeting thought that he was some lone hero out to save the world. But he wasn’t a hero, just a man on a mission.

“Because,” he heard Sam say with more patience than Dean could have mustered. “It’s…freeing, pretending to be something you’re not for one night a year.”

Dean snorted under his breath. Alcohol was a much more effective method of “freeing” oneself, and he could do it every night of the year.

Cas didn’t respond for a long moment, but then asked, “What are you two going to pretend to be?”

Dean groaned, letting Sam take over. He just wanted to get out of here and find some pie. His gaze lingered on the lawman’s star, stirring up some far distant memory from childhood. He’d always wanted to be a cowboy.

“See anything you like?” a sweet voice purred behind him.

Dean startled slightly; dammit, he didn’t usually let people sneak up on him like that. But as soon as he turned, all annoyance bled away and he plastered on a bright smile for the petite blonde standing in the aisle. She wore a delectable black lace ensemble, skirt flowing halfway up from her knees, red-stitched bodice showing a hint of cleavage. A wide-brimmed, pointy hat sat perfectly atop her head, underneath which spilled a waterfall of tight golden-blond curls. Black lipstick framed her mouth, which was set in a pouty moue.

Dean ran his gaze from her head to her toes and back up again. “I do now.” Normally he hated witches, but for this one he’d make an exception.

Her lips twitched, and she reached around him to pluck the ranger pin off the shelf. Stepping up to Dean’s chest, she walked her fingers up his shirt before pinning the bronze star to his front pocket.

“It looks good on you,” she said, voice sultry.

Dean’s mouth went dry. “Uh, yeah?”

Her elongated lashes fluttered coquettishly. “You should buy it.” She snatched up the toy gun, angling it up between them as her dazzling jade eyes flicked between it and him.

“Oh, I’m not really into Halloween—”

“That’s too bad.” The sales girl sighed, shoulders drooping. “I love it,” she added breathlessly.

Dean swallowed and smiled, leaning an elbow on the edge of the shelf unit. “I could learn to appreciate it though.”

A loud pop exploded from somewhere in the back of the store, and Dean craned his neck around to look, but couldn’t see through the rows of clothing racks and hanging decorations. Hm, where had Sam and Cas gotten to?

The young woman tilted her head at him, ignoring the disturbance. “I’m Hazel.”

“Nice to meet you, Hazel. I’m Dean.”

“Mhm, Dean, Texas Ranger. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” She held out the plastic pistol. “I bet you’d send all the girls into a tizzy.”

He took the gun, giving her a dashing grin. “How about you?”

She pressed her black lips together, smiling mischievously. Weaving her hand into his, she turned and guided him down the aisle to the front of the store. Before he knew it, he was standing at the cash register with Hazel ringing him up for the toy badge and gun.

“Thanks for shopping at All Hallows Boutique,” she said brightly as she handed Dean his change. Then she was gone, off to snag some other customer idly browsing the merchandise.

Dean blinked as he held the fake pistol, not entirely sure what just happened. He shook his head. _Damn, that was some sales technique._

((^_^))

Sam kept glancing back at the door to the costume shop, waiting for his brother to emerge. He never thought he’d bless Dean’s incessant need to flirt, but the distraction he unwittingly provided the sales woman turned out to be a good thing when Cas ended up stabbing an inflated skeleton that popped up from a coffin. Nice to know Cas still had lightning reflexes with that angel blade of his, even if he had slain a harmless decoration. Sam quickly ushered the angel outside after that.

“And we’re not telling Dean you ganked a balloon,” he repeated as they stood on the sidewalk.

Cas quirked a confused glance his way. “Why?”

“Because he’ll start hiding them places in the hopes of tricking you into doing it again.” Sam had no desire to see his older brother mercilessly tease Castiel, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t secretly treasure the memory of the angel, poised to do battle, with strips of white and black latex clinging to his clothes. And Cas’s stoic expression as he cocked his head toward the exploded skeleton…Sam almost started laughing again.

Cas simply regarded him curiously, until some delighted squeals from school children echoed from across the street, and he turned his attention toward them. It was almost five o’clock, and trick-or-treating was getting underway. Cas watched the youngsters with an intensity that would probably alarm their parents. Oh well. He was trying to learn about humanity; it was just a painstaking process. Dean may lose his patience sometimes, but Sam didn’t. The Winchesters had adopted the falling angel into their family, and they were going to damn well look after him, especially since with the way things were going, Castiel could end up fully mortal in less than a year’s time. Something none of them liked thinking about.

The chimes attached to the costume shop’s door jingled as Dean finally exited. He glanced up and down the sidewalk before spotting them and strode over.

Sam arched a brow at the bronze star pinned to his shirt and toy gun in his hand. “Seriously?”

Dean shrugged defensively. “Lay off. She gave me a good deal.”

“Like what, giving you her number in exchange for buying something?”

Dean scowled and stuffed the plastic pistol inside his jacket. “Let’s just find some dinner.”

They walked a couple blocks to a small diner that advertised “scrumptious pumpkin pie.” The inside was moderately decorated with paper cutouts of bats hanging from the ceiling and a miniature pumpkin with a jack-o’-lantern face rendered in black Sharpie at each table.

After sliding into a booth, Sam and Cas on one side, Dean on the other, Sam ordered a salad while Dean predictably got a burger. They also ordered an appetizer plate of buffalo wings for Cas to try. The angel continuously insisted he hadn’t fallen far enough to need food, but the Winchesters had been attempting to introduce him to the pleasurable aspect of eating, not the necessity of it. That way, if human nourishment ever became necessary, it might be easier for Cas to make the transition.

And, though Cas seemed loathe to admit it, he did take to some of the dishes they presented him. He’d developed a taste for coffee and, to the Winchesters’ dismay, Cheerios. Whenever they stayed at a motel that had continental breakfast, Sam would pick up a mini box of the cereal to have on hand when Castiel popped in for a visit.

At least Cas’s eating habits weren’t quite as bad as Dean’s, but sometimes it was a tug-of-war for Sam to make sure his brother didn’t corrupt the angel _too_ much.

Cas held up a wing in front of his face and turned it speculatively between his fingers. “Buffalos do not have wings, nor would these appendages support their weight in flight.”

Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling, but Sam grimaced as he belatedly realized that asking an angel to eat _wings_ of any kind was a major faux pas.

“Oh, no, they’re just called that,” he hastily explained. “Also ‘hot wings’ or just ‘wings’. And it’s chicken. Uh, you don’t have to eat it. Sorry, I didn’t think about the whole wing thing.”

Dean made a small noise of surprised understanding. “Shit, uh, yeah, we can get you something else.”

“It’s fine,” Cas replied somewhat gruffly, still eyeing the chunk of meat as though it would start flapping and fly out of his hand.

Sam exchanged a look with his brother, who shrugged and took a large bite of his burger. Sam picked at his spinach with his fork, casting surreptitious looks at Cas as the angel slowly brought the wing to his mouth to taste the sauce. After a moment’s thought, he took a proper bite and began chewing. Sam nearly breathed a sigh of relief, though it was always difficult to tell whether Cas liked something or not. His thoughtful expression and his displeased one looked pretty similar when he was concentrating.

Dean paused with his burger halfway to his mouth. “Dude,” he said, looking at Cas. “Are you molting?”

Castiel blinked and swallowed quickly. “ _No_.”

Sam glanced over and saw a few bits of white rubber sprinkled on the table, and a larger piece sticking out from under the angel’s coat collar. He reached over and plucked it off.

“Must’ve picked up something in that costume shop,” Sam said nonchalantly. “You saw how over-decorated it was. Do I have any cobwebs in my hair?” He ran his fingers through his strands for good measure.

Dean just shook his head. “No, you’re good, _Samantha_.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Cas suddenly went ramrod straight, dropping the hot wing to plunk on the plate.

“What, too spicy?” Sam asked.

Cas craned his neck to glance over his shoulder. “Something’s happened.”

Sam stiffened, also whipping his gaze around, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary in the diner. He lowered his voice. “Angels or demons?”

Dean’s hand shot out and grabbed Sam’s arm across the table, pinning it down in a vice-like grip.

“What the hell, man?” he snapped, trying to wrench free, but Dean held firm, and Sam froze at the hardened look in his brother’s eyes.

Dean’s voice came out low and threatening. “Where am I?”

Sam blinked. “What?”

Dean flicked his gaze around the diner and then back at Sam. “I said, what is this place? It ain’t any saloon I’ve ever seen.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Hah hah, very funny, Dean.”

Dean’s grip only tightened, and he skewered Sam with a penetrating gaze befitting Cas. “My name is Hayes Cooper, and you’re going to tell me what’s going on before things get messy.” With his other hand, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the toy pistol. Only, it no longer looked like a cheap chunk of plastic. The handle was a light brown wood, scuffed from repeated use, and the silver barrel had tiny, intricate engravings along the outside of the chamber.

Sam gaped at it as Dean leveled the barrel toward his chest. “Okay, Dean, this really isn’t funny. Snap out of it!” He shot Cas a panicked look.

Cas had angled his head at Dean in that considering manner of his. “You do not believe you are Dean Winchester?”

“No, as I said, name’s Cooper.” Dean shifted the gun to aim at Cas. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“I have no idea,” Castiel replied, seemingly unfazed by the revolver, and looked at Sam. “I believe Dean has been bewitched.”

Yeah, no shit. “But how—”

A cacophony of screams erupted outside, and all three of them snapped their gazes to the window as people suddenly flooded the streets in mass chaos. Dean leaped to his feet and charged for the door before Sam could piece together what was happening. With a slew of mental curses, he bolted after his brother, Cas right behind.

Dean had come to a stop just outside, seemingly at a loss with the scene unfolding before them. “What on God’s holy earth…” he uttered.

Sam was also transfixed in bewilderment. It was as though everyone had suddenly lost their minds. A guy dressed in a cape had two incisors sunk in a woman’s neck, streams of crimson dribbling down his lips as he sucked. Another guy in military garb pulled an army knife and attacked Dracula. And a woman stood over a baby stroller, screaming and flapping her arms as a black cat sat up from the blankets and flicked its tail.

Clinking metal drew Sam’s attention to the right where a knight in full armor slowly marched down the street. He held a broadsword that looked alarmingly real.

The ground shuddered, and Sam jerked his head around to find a green, runt-size _Hulk_ barreling toward the medieval knight. The beast roared and launched himself through the air, just as the knight swung his sword up in defense. There was a sickening thud as flesh and brawn collided with iron, and the two toppled in a crash.

_No. Way._ This was impossible.

Sam whirled on Cas, standing at his shoulder. “What the hell is happening?”

Castiel swept his gaze around the bedlam. “Chaos.”

“I can see that, but _how_?”

“A very powerful spell.”

“Okay, so Trickster or witch?” And where was the culprit so Sam could take them out fast?

Cas’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure.”

Sam bit back the urge to chew the angel out for his lack of helpfulness. Cas wasn’t useless; Sam was just freaking out because apparently everyone had been turned into their Halloween costumes, _including_ his brother with that stupid toy gun.

_Shit, Dean!_

Sam spun around when he realized Dean was no longer standing beside him. “Where’d he go?”

Cas turned in a circle. “There.”

Sam followed his gaze up the street and spotted a flash of blue jacket in the waning dusk. “Dean!”

But of course, his brother wasn’t answering to that name at the moment. What had he called himself?

“Coop…Cooper!”

Dean paused and angled an impatient look over his shoulder as Sam jogged to catch up. “Listen, son, I don’t have time for games. I have a fugitive to bring in, and if I know McCready, he’ll be taking advantage of this chaos.” Dean’s jaw tightened as he looked around. “Now, where’s the bank?”

Sam’s mouth dropped open, and his gaze caught the bronze star pinned to Dean’s shirt. “Oh, frickin’ fantastic. You’re a Texas Ranger.”

“A what?” Cas asked, coming up behind him.

“A lawman,” Sam supplied. Actually, that might work in their favor. “Uh, listen Ranger Cooper, we need your help. We need to find whoever’s responsible for…this madness, before people die.”

Dean—Cooper—gave him a hard look. “Sickness isn’t my area of expertise. Best get the local doc for that.”

“It isn’t a disease,” Cas said. “It’s a spell, which has left you under the delusion that you’re a man named Hayes Cooper, rather than Dean Winchester.”

Sam suppressed a groan. He needed to convince Dean to stick with them, not make him think _they_ were the crazy ones.

_Ranger_ Dean angled a brow up before returning his gaze to Sam. “Best get your friend to a doctor. A combination of dehydration and heat stroke is a serious matter.”

“Uh, yeah.” A thought occurred to Sam. “By the way, what year do you think it is?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “1888.” He looked around again, expression hardening. “Though I’ve never seen a town the likes of this before…”

_Double fantastic._

Sam held his palms up. “Okay, look, let’s just set aside the what and how…or when…and focus on the who. Cas, can you sense where the spell originated?” Something this massive had to be more localized than several dozen hex bags.

Cas’s brow creased in concentration. “No, it’s too widespread. Whoever’s doing this is powerful.”

_Great._

A girly shriek split the air, followed by a young woman careening around the corner, a brutish Frankenstein monster lumbering after her. She obviously couldn’t run very fast with her massive ball gown swishing about her legs, and she stumbled on the curb. Just as the stitched-together science experiment reached for her, Cas appeared between them and shoved his palm into the center of the monster’s chest. With a grunting whoosh of expelled air, Frankenstein’s creation went flying backward to slam into a brick wall. One of the bolts in his neck popped loose, leaving the monster trying to hold his head on straight, damsel in distress forgotten.

The girl scrabbled up from the ground, spitting wild strands of chocolate-brown hair from her mouth, and immediately latched onto Castiel’s arm. He gave her a considering look before trying to extricate himself, but she only clung tighter.

Sam sprinted over, thankful when his brother followed. Dean had a curious glint in his eye as he regarded Cas with new interest.

“You okay, miss?” Sam asked when Cas didn’t say anything to the girl he’d just rescued. If only Dean were in his right mind, he’d have a ready quip for the angel.

“Y-yes.” The lady’s lower lip trembled and she fixed wide doe eyes up at Cas. “Please good sir, what is this strange land?”

“Ridgemont, Arizona.”

“I do not like it here.” She inched closer, snuggling right up against Cas’s chest. “There are demons everywhere.”

“They’re not real demons,” Cas replied. “Merely people bewitched such as yourself.” He rolled his shoulders and tried to step away from her, but she refused to let go. Cas’s frown deepened.

Sam suppressed a sigh. “Uh, sorry, miss, but we really need to be going.”

Her eyes rounded even more. “I will come with you! I feel safe in your arms.”

Cas flicked a slightly perturbed look at Sam that asked, _“How do I get her off?”_

Dean—Cooper, _dammit_ —cleared his throat. “Look, little lady, it’s best if you find someplace to hide until this is over. Where we’re headed is no place for a woman.”

Did that mean _Ranger_ Dean was willing to stick with them now? Sam rubbed the back of his neck. They still had no idea where to start looking for whoever was behind this. And was the spell permanent, or would everyone go poof back to their normal selves at midnight?

“There you are!” another female voice rang out, and Sam’s brows lifted as a tall brunette in high heels and a full-body, leopard cat suit came hurrying toward them. Two black ears attached to a headband sat atop her head, and she had whiskers painted on her cheeks in eyeliner. She grabbed the medieval damsel and wrenched her away from Cas. “So sorry to have bothered you,” she apologized.

“But they can protect us from the demons!” the princess protested.

Cat-woman laughed obnoxiously loud. “Demons, good one! She just gets so into Halloween.” Waving one hand dismissively, she dragged the terrified princess away, berating her for running off.

Sam shook his head in bemusement. “Wait, not everyone is turning into their costumes.”

Cas inclined his head. “What is the significance?”

“I don’t know, that this is targeted?” He looked around at the surrounding streets packed with dozens of costumes brought to life and running amok. That was a lot of hex bags to plant and then set off all at once though. Yet, Sam didn’t think this was a Trickster, despite the obvious candy element in Halloween, as Tricksters seemed to tackle one victim at a time, not a hundred. Plus, this wasn’t warping reality in order to humble someone so much as warping people to generate pure chaos.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. He wished his brother was here to come up with a plan, even if it’d be a crazy, half-brained one. Or at the very least they could bounce theories off each other. This Ranger Cooper was more laconic than Cas, offering up fewer words than the angel.

Another shrill scream rent the air, and this time Dean took off toward it. Biting back a curse, Sam hurried to keep his deluded brother in sight. They crossed the street and reached a park where a woman was thrashing on the ground, arms flailing in an effort to smack away a three-foot-tall, red-skinned demon. Sam’s heart dropped into his stomach. Oh god, that was probably a kid.

Ranger Cooper pulled out his revolver and fired, two shots cracking from the barrel.

“Dean, _no!_ ” Sam shouted.

The pint-size devil jerked and doubled over, letting the woman wriggle out from underneath and stagger away. Sam stared in horror, but apparently bullets had as much effect on fake demons as real ones, because the kid straightened a moment later and turned an enraged glare on Dean—Cooper. With a grizzly roar, it leaped toward him.

Sam instinctively reached into his jacket for Ruby’s demon killing knife, even as his brain screamed that he couldn’t hurt a kid.

Cooper fired once more, but the shot missed. Then Cas appeared in front of him, throwing up his arms and taking the brunt of the miniature demon’s impact. The collision propelled him backward into Dean, and the three of them went down hard on the ground.

The kid landed on Cas’s stomach. Rearing back, it slashed three-inch claws across the angel’s chest. A spray of vermillion misted the air. Sam was sprinting toward them, but before the demon could swipe its talons again, Cas grabbed its shoulders and tossed it aside. The monster flew twenty feet through the air to land in some bushes. Sam cringed, but figured if bullets hadn’t hurt the kid, a fall like that wouldn’t either. Just as Sam reached Cas and Dean, he caught a glimpse of red and black as the bushes rustled and the demon ran off.

Grunting, Ranger Dean squirmed out from under Cas, nearly kicking the angel in the face. Cas rolled to the side and braced himself on his elbows.

Sam dropped down next to his brother—who didn’t know they were related. “You can’t go around shooting people!” He never thought there’d come a time when they _couldn’t_ kill monsters. But these weren’t evil creatures running around; they were innocent people caught in some horrific spell.

“You would rather I let the savage scalp the poor woman?” Cooper retorted.

Sam gritted his teeth. True, that kid could’ve killed…his mother? Older sister? That would’ve been really bad.

“Just let Cas handle the monsters, okay?” Sam glanced at the angel, who had yet to sit up, and blanched at the splotches of red glistening on the grass. “Shit, Cas?”

He put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and turned him over to get a look. His stomach clenched at the three jagged tears through Cas’s clothes and flesh, running from under one side of his ribs up to his other shoulder. Cas’s face looked pale, eyes tight as his breaths came short and ragged.

“Oh man,” Sam uttered. “What do we do?” He’d been waiting for the day Cas’s ability to heal himself failed, now that the angel was cut off from Heaven, but nothing prepared him for how to deal with the sundered muscle and glint of ribs peeking through the lacerations in front of him.

“I just…need a minute,” Cas panted.

Sam tightened his grip on the angel’s shoulder, hoping Cas could muster enough healing to get through this. They still had a curse to break and a demented Dean to fix. He shrugged out of his button down, wadded it up, and pressed it to the wounds. Cas squeezed his eyes shut, but didn’t make a sound.

Cooper knelt next to them and clasped Cas’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Cas opened one eye to meet his gaze. “I will always protect you and Sam, Dean.”

Cooper’s expression softened to a gentleness that startled Sam, coming from his brother’s face. “A noble sacrifice like that won’t be forgotten.”

“He’s not dying,” Sam snapped, then glanced back at Castiel. “Are you?” he asked in a lower voice.

“No,” Cas grunted. “Healing is just…taking longer.”

“Okay,” Sam said, daring to feel a small measure of relief. “Take your time.” Though the longer this chaos went on, the more people could die…

Ranger Dean stood and began pacing.

“Sam,” Cas rasped. “That…creature. It looked remarkably like the mask Dean showed me in the store.”

Sam straightened. “Yeah, it did. And that damsel you saved was wearing the same gown we saw.” So maybe only those who bought costumes from that particular store had been cursed.

Cas began sitting up, and Sam pulled his bloodstained shirt away. He nearly sagged in relief to find that Castiel’s ribs were no longer visible. The gashes were smaller, still angry red, but at least not gaping or bleeding anymore.

“Okay,” he said, feeling more confident with a plan. “We need to go back to the costume shop. D’-Cooper! We have a lead on McCready.” Sam lifted his head, only to panic when he found his brother had vanished. “Dammit!”

Cas climbed to his feet. “Sam, you find Dean. I’ll go to the costume shop.”

“You sure?” Sam asked, eyeing the angel warily.

Castiel nodded. “We have no choice.” And with that and a swish of wings, he was gone.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Sam strode off in search of his deranged brother.

He found him a block over, standing in the middle of the street. Shop windows had been broken, and a handful of cars idled at the curb, their doors hanging wide open as though their occupants had fled in a hurry.

Sam pulled up short when he spotted another cowboy dressed in black standing thirty paces directly across from Dean. Both had their hands hovering above their gun holsters.

“McCready,” Dean said steadily.

“Cooper,” the man replied.

Sam sputtered. “You’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me.” He raised his voice, “Guys, stop this right now!”

“Stay out of this, son,” Dean replied. “McCready and I have unfinished business.”

Sam hunched his shoulders, prepared to run and tackle his brother to the ground, when another body slammed into him first. He hit the pavement hard. Fingers clawed at his back, pulling at his shirt, and Sam flipped over, stifling a yelp as he came face to face with a rotting corpse. A gaping mouth with decayed lips smacked hungrily. Hot putrid breath wafted over him, igniting his gag reflex. He bucked the zombie off, sending the frail body tumbling backward.

As he rolled onto his side toward the street, Sam saw Dean’s fingers twitch as ranger and outlaw went for the draw.

((^_^))

Castiel landed in the middle of the costume shop. The place was dark and closed for the night. Streetlights outside the window cast an eerie orange glow over the front displays, scattering shadows across the floor and into darkened corners. Grotesque faces peered out from clothes racks and half-empty shelves. None of which unnerved an angel of the Lord.

Castiel looked around, cocking his head to the side as he detected a faint voice echoing from the back storeroom. He moved forward silently. He could have flown into the next room, but his chest ached, and Castiel wanted to conserve his strength for whatever he’d find back there. His grace had managed to heal his wounds, repairing the tears in both flesh and fabric, but it’d left him tired. A feeling he was growing quite accustomed to, much to his chagrin.

A set of heavy plum drapes partitioned the sales floor from the back, and as Castiel slipped between the folds, the voice became more distinct. It was feminine, and busy chanting a string of repeated phrases. Castiel recognized the Latin words inviting the Greek goddess Eris to accept this offering of chaos.

Drawing his shoulders back, Castiel strode past two rolling shelves and came upon a cleared space in the rear of the storeroom. A red pentagram had been spray painted on the floor, surrounded by a ring of burning black candles. On the outer edge knelt the sales clerk who’d been flirting with Dean earlier. Her pointy hat hooded her eyes, and the candle flames cast golden highlights across the blond curls draping her shoulders.

She jolted in surprise, black-rimmed lips tugging down in a frown. “How did you get in here?”

He ignored her question. “What have you done to the people of this town?” he demanded.

“Just some Halloween fun.” She slowly rose to her feet, pressing her mouth into a mischievous moue.

Castiel took a menacing step forward. “You will end whatever spell you’ve cast.”

She laughed. “Or what?”

He might not have been able to smite her, but he was still an angel. With a flap of his invisible wings, a stack of advertising fliers on a shelf scattered through the air, and two of the ten candle flames snuffed out.

The witch shifted her weight, suddenly seeming nervous, and her voice came out less sure. “What are you?”

The answer to that question, which he had been wrestling with for some time, was too complicated to respond with, given the situation, so he settled on the short version. “Castiel.”

She lunged for a nearby desk and grabbed a letter opener. He frowned. There was a time when he would have let her stab his vessel, when the pain and damage was so fleeting because of the instant rejuvenation from his grace. But while it wouldn’t kill him, he wasn’t keen on subjecting himself to that kind of pain. Again.

So he strode forward, catching her wrist and bending it back until she cried out and her fingers spasmed open. The sharp implement clattered on the floor. Castiel tossed the witch aside to crash into some cardboard boxes.

Then he swept his gaze over her altar, which was rather crudely drawn and seemed to be lacking some important elements, though Castiel couldn’t tell exactly what. All he could sense was the distinct lack of power coming from the symbols or anything else…except a miniature statue of the demigoddess Eris. It was definitely channeling magical energies.

Castiel extended his arm, and with a single thought, the marble figurine shattered, flinging tiny shards in every direction. The air popped and sizzled as the curse lost its anchor and dissipated.

Satisfied, Castiel turned and found the witch on her hands and knees, blinking around dazedly.

“Whoa,” she said. “That was…weird.”

Castiel furrowed his brow. Did the witch have no recollection of fighting him only a moment ago?

She looked up at him. “Uh, good game,” she stammered, and got to her feet. “But, seriously, what costume is that supposed to be?”

Castiel tilted his head. Perhaps he’d misjudged, and this girl had been yet another victim. Her outfit was what Sam called a “classic witch stereotype.” Yet, that statue had definitely been the cause of the curse, and she’d been chanting to it.

“Are you not the witch who cast the spell?” he asked.

She gave him an odd look. “Well, yeah. Just for fun.”

Castiel squinted. He was having a very difficult time grasping humans’ idea of “fun” when it came to this holiday.

The young lady huffed. “Jeez, you need to lighten up.”

“I agree,” said a new voice.

Castiel stiffened as a wave of power wafted through the room. From the shadows in the far corner, a woman emerged, darkness clinging to the bottom of her long, bruise-purple gown. Straight black hair cascaded over her shoulders to her waist, framing a sharp face with prominent cheekbones. The candle flames surrounding the pentagram flared, shooting straight up like flattened spades.

Castiel swallowed in slight nervousness. He was prepared to fight a mortal witch, not a recently fed goddess of discord… “Eris,” he murmured.

The woman’s upper lip curled. “You ruined my fun, angel.” She cocked her head at him appraisingly, and a grin slowly arched across her face. “Excuse me, _half_ angel. Oh, this will make up for it.”

She stretched out her hand and magic crackled on the air, sending her hair on end in a crown of floating black tresses. The temperature plummeted, and a shrill caterwaul pierced his ears into his skull like a drill. The sales girl clapped her hands to the sides of her head.

A gust of wind picked up, and before Castiel could think to fly, dozens of milky, amorphous phantoms descended from the ceiling on top of him. One plunged into his chest, freezing his lungs and paralyzing his wings. Castiel dropped to his knees in the center of the amateur pentagram as another phantasm forced its way down his throat. He choked on the icy, slimy film, bowing forward and planting his palms on the cold cement floor.

He vaguely heard the sales girl scream as she bolted out of the storeroom. Eris let her go, content with the angel gasping at her feet. More specters pierced his vessel all the way into his grace, latching onto it and sucking his energy into themselves. The pressure on his lungs was excruciating. His body craved oxygen, and black spots began dancing across his eyes when it was denied breath.

He tipped over, smacking his shoulder against the floor. Castiel tried to curl in on himself, to block the spirits from invading, but they sank into him regardless, each one sending a jolt of bone-chilling current through him. Eris’s laughter reverberated in the background as she siphoned off his energy. The ramrod candle flames began to swell and blur in Castiel’s vision, until it seemed as though he were encased in ice surrounded by a ring of holy fire.

((^_^))

The trigger squeezed, making a hollow click. Dean blinked, finding himself once more in control of his mental faculties. He stared at the toy gun in his hand. _What the hell?_ He’d seriously been about to go all Gunsmoke on someone. And that Texan accent…oh god. He rolled his shoulders, fighting the hot flush creeping into his cheeks.

The cowboy standing several feet away looked around warily before giving a nervous laugh. “Uh, nice duel. Um…” He shook his head. “That’s the last time I let George talk me into jello shots.”

Dean watched the guy turn and walk away with as much dignity as he could muster. Dean, on the other hand, threw the toy gun on the ground where the cheap plastic fractured on impact. After a moment, he remembered the bronze star pinned to his chest, and ripped that off next, tearing a hole in the shirt. He chucked the badge as far as he could throw before it could start clouding his head with more cowboy urges.

Scuffling to his left drew Dean’s attention to where Sam was hauling himself off the ground.

“Sam!” He hurried over, coming to a stop at the sight of a kid dressed as a zombie lying a few feet away. Oh, jeez. “Are you okay?” Dean asked frantically. “Did he bite you?”

Sam shot him a startled look. “I’m fine. Are _you_?”

“Yeah, I’m me again.” He spared a look at the kid, who was rubbing his mouth as though to get the taste of something awful off his tongue. Dean suppressed a shudder; who knew what the kid had eaten while he’d been in zombie mode.

Dean glanced up and down the street. No new screams pierced the air, and no one came running around the corner in a panic. “Seems people are getting back to normal.”

“You remember what happened?” Sam asked.

“You mean do I remember acting like a friggin’ cowboy? Yeah.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. Okay, so being a gunslinger from the Wild West _had_ been pretty cool…but being spelled into one without his consent was definitely not.

Zombie dude scrabbled to his feet, eyes wide in horror and embarrassment, and he bolted away from the Winchesters. Dean shook his head. Guess he could have had it worse.

Sam gazed after the kid with pity. “Cas must’ve broken the spell.”

“Not a moment too soon.” A split second later, and that would’ve been a real bullet firing at him. Dean frowned. Wait, Cas…son-of-a-bitch, how could he have just left Sam with their best friend _bleeding out_ on the ground?

“Is Cas okay? He was able to heal himself from that monster?”

“Oh, yeah. It took a little bit, but he was fine. We figured out that the people who were transformed had gotten their costumes from the same shop, so he went to break the spell while I came after you.”

Dean felt a small measure of relief. “Okay, good.” He looked around. “Then where is he?”

Sam pulled out his cell in response, presumably to call the angel. After several long moments with the phone pressed to his ear, Sam’s mouth turned down. “He’s not answering.”

A bad feeling wormed its way through Dean’s gut. Obviously, the curse had been lifted, but what about who cast it in the first place? Cas may have had the mojo to heal himself earlier, but it could have left him drained and not up to taking on a supernatural baddie.

Dean and Sam exchanged a worried look, and without a word turned to hurry toward the costume shop. As they jogged toward the cross street, a body came tearing around the corner, smacking into Dean’s chest. He grabbed the woman’s arms instinctively to prevent her from falling, but his grip tightened when he recognized Hazel, the store clerk who’d seduced him into purchasing the cowboy accessories.

“You!” Friggin’ witches. He should have known better.

Instead of trying to squirm out of his hold, the girl sank against him. “Oh thank god. There’s this…She…Were those ghosts? I think she’s killing him!”

Dean shot Sam a bewildered look.

“Wait, you’re not the witch who cast the spell?” Sam asked.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Hazel exclaimed. “It was just Halloween fun; magic isn’t real!” She whipped her head over her shoulder, suddenly tensing. “Except, that woman…”

Dean finally grasped what the sales girl had said at the tail end of her ramble. “Wait, who is she killing?”

Hazel frowned. “He was with you, in the store earlier.”

Dean’s stomach clenched. He jerked Hazel aside, practically shoving her against the side of the building, and bolted around the corner toward the shop’s door, Sam on his heels. The chimes jangled as they charged in, ruining the element of surprise. Dean immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end with the static in the air. He pulled his gun—his real one—as Sam did the same.

The sales floor was quiet, but too dark to see anything. Sam made a small noise in his throat and pointed toward a set of heavy curtains. A faint white glow emanated from underneath.

Dean nodded once, and they moved forward quickly and quietly. Sam pulled one side of the drapes aside and Dean ducked in first, finding himself in a storeroom. The light was brighter in the back corner, not quite as blinding as an angel’s unleashed grace, but unnerving nonetheless.

With Sam at his side, they strode between the shelves and surged into an open space, guns raised. Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach at the sight of Cas prone on the floor over a pentagram and surrounded by a ring of candles, their flames tall and rigid as though fed by pyrotechnics. The angel’s eyes were squeezed shut, and his whole body twitched and convulsed as cloudy sheets of plasma dove in and out of him.

“Cas!” Dean’s gaze then latched onto a woman standing against the wall, her arms spread wide and palms up. A whitish-blue light haloed her figure, and for each phantasm that plunged into Castiel, the radiance pulsed brighter. She turned dark eyes toward the Winchesters.

“I’m sorry, this is a private party.”

“Party’s over, bitch.” Dean raised his gun and fired. The crack split the air and a hole appeared in the woman’s dress over her stomach.

She glanced down dispassionately at a tiny spot of dark liquid pooling underneath the fabric. A second later, both the blood and tear vanished. The woman licked her lips. “Wow, angel juice provides quite the kick, even from one as pathetic and fallen as him.”

Dean gritted his teeth. Guess they weren’t dealing with a witch after all.

Sam drew Ruby’s knife and launched himself at the woman. She shot her palms toward him, and a column of light burst forth to punch Sam in the chest, propelling him backward into some cardboard boxes that had already been smashed.

Dean reached for a silver knife in his jacket as the woman took a step toward him. She waved a hand, and Dean’s legs suddenly turned to jelly. He dropped, hitting the floor hard. A few feet away, Cas had fallen limp, the blitzing shades having vanished without the woman’s concentrated wielding.

“What are you?” he ground out as she came to stand over him. Dammit, he couldn’t get his legs to work. He wanted to crane his neck around in search of Sam, but couldn’t risk drawing her attention in case his brother could get the jump on the bitch.

She reached out to stroke his cheek, her touch stinging like a bug zapper. “Just a long-forgotten demigoddess. Until tonight that is.” She tipped her head back and inhaled deeply. “Oh, was that some fun we had. Too bad feathers over there had to pull the plug.” She cocked her head at Dean. “Did you enjoy living out the fantasy of being a Texas Ranger?”

“Yeah, it was a dream come true.” _Come on, Sam._ Dean’s gaze flicked to Cas, catching the angel’s half-lidded eyes looking right at him. Cas’s hand twitched, and a glint of silver protruding from the trench coat’s sleeve gleamed in the candlelight.

She hummed a thoughtful noise. “You know, I could use some handsome, male concubines when I rebuild my harem. And after the boost from tonight’s festivities, and the angel, I’ll have enough power to establish a quaint little kingdom for myself.” She leaned down toward Dean’s face and purred, “What do you say? Be my paramour?”

Dean’s eyes shifted a fraction to meet Cas’s again. Though barely conscious, the angel managed to give a small nod.

Dean turned his attention back to the woman and smiled. “Bite me.”

Her mouth turned down. “If I turn you into another Halloween tribute, you’ll be singing a different tune.”

Dean heard the angel blade skitter across the floor, and he snatched it up, thrusting it into the demigoddess’s chest. She gasped, blood spewing from her ruby lips. Wide, baffled eyes glanced down at the blade sticking out between her ribs.

Dean gave it a sharp twist. “Try this song: trick-or-treat.”

With a choked gurgle, the woman collapsed to the side, her radiant silhouette extinguishing. Dean slid the blade out and surged to his feet as feeling rushed back into his legs. He heard a grunt and slapping cardboard as Sam scrabbled out from the crushed boxes. Perfect timing, Dean thought ruefully, now that the work was over.

He rushed over to Cas, dropping down beside the angel and gripping his shoulder. “Cas?”

Sam knelt down on the other side, giving the pentagram a wary look before dismissing it. He pressed two fingers to Castiel’s neck, and after a moment nodded.

Dean’s shoulders loosed some of their tension. “Cas, buddy, wake up.”

A faint moan escaped the angel’s lips, and Cas’s eyelids peeled open partway. His gaze barely focused on the Winchesters, blue irises glazed over.

“Shit, what’d she do to you?”

Cas moved his mouth, though no sounds came out at first. Dean and Sam exchanged an alarmed look.

“Energy…leech…” Cas finally rasped, and his eyes slipped closed again with a grimace.

_Crap_. Cas had enough problems managing his failing grace; if that bitch had completely drained him…

“Will you be okay?” Sam asked worriedly.

Though his eyes remained closed, Castiel’s brow furrowed as he seemed to consider the question. “Yes?”

That unsure inflection was not what Dean wanted to hear. “Okay, man, can you at least sit up? Sam and I will get you to a motel where you can rest, but you gotta help us out a little.”

Cas cracked an eye open and nodded faintly. Dean scooped one arm under the angel’s back while Sam braced his other side, and both brothers waited until Cas nodded again before easing him upright.

“You good?” Dean asked.

“Mh-hm,” he mumbled.

Dean shook his head, not buying it. “Okay, here we go.” He met Sam’s gaze, and together they hefted Cas to his feet. The angel swayed alarmingly for a moment, but the brothers held him steady between them. They waited another moment for Cas to get his bearings, and then started shuffling toward the exit.

“So that was a demigoddess, huh?” Sam asked.

“Eris,” Cas supplied.

“Shoulda figured—goddess of chaos and discord.”

Dean made a disgusted noise in his throat. “I am never touching a costume again.”

“You know,” Sam said thoughtfully. “Our FBI suits and badges are costumes.”

“They’re disguises.”

“Same thing.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, I think it’d be better to be turned into a federal agent than a cowboy.”

“I guess that would depend on whether you’re a Mulder or a Scully.”

They made it out to the sales floor and were coming up on the door when a twang snapped the air and a plastic skeleton dropped down from the ceiling in front of them, clunky bones rattling together.

Jerking Cas back, Dean lashed out with the angel blade he still held, stabbing the dangling skeleton through the throat. For a moment, the three of them stood stunned, staring at the goofy grin on the decoration’s face.

A hot flush crept up Dean’s neck, and he yanked the sword out angrily, then proceeded to slash at the twine holding the skeleton up. The angel blade made several nicks in the plastic before all the lines were severed and the bag of bones crumpled to the floor.

Sam made a series of choked noises as he bowed forward slightly, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Dean shot him a dark look.

“I officially hate Halloween,” he growled.

Cas huffed between them. “I am in complete agreement.”


End file.
